A New Beginning
by Torgall
Summary: An orc, having abandoned his people for their shameful acts on Draenor, shares his life's experiences with a human. But before long, he finds that he may yet be able to return to his roots...
1. Chapter I: Law and Order

Timeline: Shortly after _Lord of the Clans_ and before _Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos_

**Chapter I: Law and Order  
**

Setremedes rolled up his paper and turned to Jarte, his dwarven companion.

"Can I offer you a smoke?" he asked the dwarf, who regarded him through his black, beady eyes.

"Ah, just fer this once then," he said, grinning through his tasseled beard. Setremedes handed the dwarf the freshly rolled tobacco, who lit it using a nearby torch. Both were part of the Southshore militia, defending the popular coastal town from the constant threats in the wake of the Second War. Orcish warbands were still fairly common, and while they were not as much of an imposing danger as they used to be, Setremedes and Jarte were as alert as ever. It seemed that as soon as they began to subside, another problem sprung up - in the aftermath of the war, with many left homeless or otherwise, bandits had begun to sprung up, and common crime was on the rise.

"Heard anything from Ironforge, then?" Setremedes asked the dwarf as he rolled a second tobacco for himself.

"Not much," the dwarf grunted, puffing slightly, "but it sounds like they're clearing out the last of the orcs in Khaz Modan, which is good."

"You might be returning home soon, then?" said Setremedes. The dwarf gave a second grunt, and Setremedes nodded. Jarte originally lived in Khaz Modan, like many other Bronzebeard dwarves, but the Horde's invasion through Khaz Modan made him one of the many refugees in the Second War. Of course, the gates of Ironforge were never breached by the Horde, but many dwarves had chosen to migrate to Lordaeron, at least until the war was over. Now that things were calming down, many of those dwarves were preparing to return home.

"Have you ever considered staying in Lordaeron?" Setremedes asked nonchalantly. Jarte gave a shout of laughter at that.

"What, yer gonna miss me, are ye?" he said, clapping the human on the back and nearly knocking him over. "Sorry, me friend, but I miss me old home. The snowy peaks of Khaz Modan, the great anvils of Ironforge... Nah, I'm 'fraid that I'll be goin' home wit' me brethren."

Setremedes nodded, feeling slightly crestfallen at his companion's decision, yet not entirely surprised. Dwarves weren't known for being overly-adventurous, and didn't often venture far from their homelands of Khaz Modan; Jarte was no exception, and only moved out of necessity. Many dwarves were in a similar predicament, and now that the war was nearing its conclusion, many were migrating en masse back to Ironforge.

Nonetheless, Setremedes had grown to like Jarte a lot; they had fought several battles together, and Jarte was a reliable, if a bit of a rugged, friend. When he had arrived in Southshore, Jarte thought he had escaped the Horde's massacre, only to find they were proceeding to invade Lordaeron. Not content with running, the dwarf joined the Lordaeron Alliance and met Setremedes there. After the war began to die down, both were assigned to the Southshore militia. They had been steadfast friends since.

Now that his companion was possibly going to leave, Setremedes was rather disappointed indeed.

The dwarf eyed him closely. "You ain' gonna get all teary-eyed on me, are ya lad?" he asked gruffly. Setremedes shook his head and smiled.

"Heh, I'm not THAT much of a sissy," he laughed, "we'll still be able to send each other mail, after all."

The dwarf nodded and clasped Setremedes' hand with an almost crushing grip; Setremedes winced, even with the thick leather gauntlets he had on, but accepted the handshake nonetheless. Dwarves, after all, weren't known for their subtlety.

"Come on, then, we got to go check out the nearby woods to make sure there aren't any bandits hiding out nearby," Stremedes said, rubbing his hand slightly. Jarte nodded, and the two followed their patrol route away from the town.

* * *

Four cloaked and hooded figures skulked on the outskirts of Southshore, hungrily watching the port town and eyeing open and lightly guarded carts of fruits, vegetables and other produce.

"What say we get ourselves some lunch?" one of them growled, and two of the others nodded in agreement. The fourth one raised his head slowly, carefully eyeing the town before them. As the other three started forward, he suddenly flung his arm out, knocking two of them over.

"What'd ya stop us for, eh?" the third snapped, batting the arm out of his way and glaring at his companion. In silent response, the fourth merely nodded in the direction of the road. The other three followed his gaze and saw a small patrol, a human and a dwarf, passing by the carts they were intending to steal from.

"Okay, okay, so there was a guard patrol..." mumbled the first, "Doesn' look like they're headin' to where we are though. Wait 'til they pass, eh?"

The group all nodded in agreement. When they were certain that the guards were gone, they all darted down the hill for a free lunch.

A minute or so later, a fifth hooded figure emerged - much larger than the first four. He stared at the bandits both angrily and disappointed.

"Damn... they beat me here."

* * *

"Okay, so our bandits have apparently been preying on caravans leaving Southshore via the north road," Setremedes said, consulting his orders, "and apparently they've been very bold, attacking not long after the caravans have left the town; attacking this close to us... I can't believe the levels of thieving and banditry there is now."

"Aye, crime is definately on the rise now," Jarte agreed solemnly. He puffed one last time on the tobacco Setremedes had given him earlier, then tossed it aside. "All the more reason for us to hasten our patrols, to see if we can catch the little buggers."

Setremedes nodded. They were just about to quicken their pace, and then -

"STOP! Thieves! My fruit!"

Both human and dwarf whirled around on the spot, looking in the direction where the cry had come from. But it was certainly not a human cry; low and guttural, it was almost a savage roar.

"Thieves? Here? IN Southshore?!" Jarte growled, unsheathing his hammer.

"That was no human," Setremedes said, frowning, looking around cautiously; but there was nothing suspicious, save some folk looking around for the cry.

"What, ye think there be an orc in Southshore? Selling fruit?" Jarte asked incredulously, "Come on, we better go check it out!"

The dwarf ran off, surprisingly swiftly for one of his height and build. Setremedes hesistated momentarily, then followed after his companion.

* * *

"What? Who said that?" said the first bandit, startled. Someone had cried out; they had been spotted.

"Nevermind that, the militia will know we're here if we don't beat it!" cried the second, stuffing a couple of apples into his cloak, and sprinting away.

"Hey, wait for us!" the others yelled after him, running for the relative sanctuary of the nearby woodland. All the while watched by the fifth figure, who smiled, satisfied.

* * *

"There!" yelled Jarte, pointing to farmer's cart up ahead; sure enough, four cloaked and hooded figures were sprinting away, a couple of them dropping some fruit and vegetables.

"Damn thieves!" Setremedes growled, pulling out his sword, in case they were armed, "Jarte! You stay here and alert the militia! We may need to subdue them if they fight! I'll go ahead and try to head them off before we lose them!"

"Are ye sure?" Jarte said, frowning slightly.

"I can handle them, they're probably unarmed!" replied Setremedes, increasing his pace to keep the bandits in his sight, "Just go and alert the militia! Get backup, just in case!"

"Alrighty, good fightin'!" cried the dwarf, turning and heading towards town. Setremedes followed the bandits into the forest; he could hear their panting and the sound of them ploughing through the undergrowth only a short distance ahead. He held out one mailed arm out in front of him to protect himself from the dense undergrowth that might try to claw at his face. Ducking and weaving through the forest, he had lost sight of the bandits, but could hear the pounding of their feet up ahead, and their heavy breathing.

And then they were gone. Setremedes burst into a small clearing, his sword held at the ready, but the figures were nowhere to be seen. He couldn't even hear any breathing. Already he knew something was wrong.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when all four thieves leapt into the clearing, all armed and looking quite vicious. Two were wielding daggers, a third was wielding a mace, and the fourth had a shortsword. All evidently stolen.

Setremedes swallowed, his eyes darting from thief to thief. They didn't look very strong, and he suspected he could overpower any of them, but there was four of them and only one of him. He could flee back into the forest and find the backup Jarte was getting, but he would leave his back open then, and they would easily be able to cut him down on his retreat. No, it seemed he would be forced to fight.

Again, he had barely made his decision when they made their move. One of the ones with the daggers and the one armed with the sword moved forward while the other two moved into a better position, to stop Setremedes escaping. The one wielding the sword approached first, bringing his blade down; Setremedes deflected it using his bracer, and then swung the same arm out to shove the bandit away. At the same time he moved aggressively towards the dagger-bandit, who did not expect him to move such, and stumbled momentarily. Setremedes pressed his advantage and swung his sword several times, causing the thief to duck and dodge, unable to swing his daggers.

At this point the mace-wielding bandit decided to make his move, the other dagger-wielding bandit staying back for the moment. Making a cowardly blow, he struck Setremedes in the small of the back. The Southshore guard shouted in pain, turning around awkwardly to meet his attacker. He brought his blade up to parry the next blow, but was still stooped from the blow to the back. The mace-wielder took full advantage of this, aiming for Setremedes arms while kicking out at his less-defended legs.

At the same time, the first dagger-bandit took a swing at Setremedes' legs. Fortunately, it glanced off the chainmail, and Setremedes reacted instinctively, kicking out behind him. Judging by the resounding crack and cry of pain, he had fractured his opponent's shin. However, this put him in an even worse position in his fight with the mace-bandit, as he was now very much off-balance. To make matters worse, the thief with the shortsword had risen and was advancing, and the second dagger-bandit, seeing his prey had fallen, was also moving toward the outnumbered Southshore guard. To Setremedes, he could see the situation was quite hopeless.

Nonetheless, he was not going to be cowed by mere bandits. He attempted to draw himself up to his full height, only to double over after another blow from the mace. Keeping his head raised, he futilely swung his sword, trying to keep his attackers at bay, but they all knew, Setremedes particularly, that he was lost, and their malicious grins drove it home. Glaring at his attackers, Setremedes waited for the killing blow to fall; or would they simply pummel him to death?

Before any of them could advance, however, there was an enourmous, enraged bellow. Everyone looked around, alarmed; and suddenly, with a mighty crash, a huge figure burst through the trees. Like the bandits, he too was cloaked, but unlike the bandits, this figure was quite massive. Easily the breadth of two men and just as tall, everyone present could tell it was an orc. No human had a stature like that.

With an angry bellow, the orc charged at the thieves. He collided with the nearest two, sending them flying. The other two gave angry shouts, advancing on their huge opponent, weapons raised. Undetterred, the orc merely raised his arm to block the strikes; the thick cloak and his thick skin were more than enough to block the weaker strikes of the thieves. Reaching out, he grabbed one by the neck and threw him bodily across the clearing; he crashed into a tree and didn't rise, clearly knocked out. The orc picked up the shortsword the thief had dropped and faced the second thief, one of the dagger wielders.

The dagger-bandit weaved towards the orc, hoping to remain mobile enough to keep the orc off guard and target. However, his opponent had clearly fought more than once, and with a precision strike, managed to sink the blade into the bandit's shoulder. The thief collapsed to the ground with a yell, trying to stem the wound.

At this point, the other two bandits had risen and were advancing from behind. The orc, aware of this, swung around with astounding agility that Setremedes could do little but gape. Swinging the sword with such force, the orc knocked the mace out of the hands of his first opponent. The force of the blow sent the thief spinning. The remaining thief advanced, hatred in his eyes. He lunged forward, hoping to sink both daggers into his opponent. The orc merely grunted, dodging out of the way and picking up the fallen mace. As his dagger-wielding opponent span around to meet his attacker once more, the orc swung the mace brutally - it crunched into the thief's head, knocking him cold.

The remaining bandit surveyed his allies, taking note of his mace, which the orc was now twirling threateningly. Wide-eyed, he glanced at the orc, then fled into the undergrowth.

Setremedes had regained some of his strength now, and managed to pull himself to his feet. He was ready to meet this orc in battle - at least it was a one-on-one fight now. They approached each other warily, prepared for battle; and then, with surprising swiftness, the orc literally snatched Setremedes' weapon straight from his hands! So surprised was the human that he reacted a moment to late as the orc raised a huge, meaty fist and it collided with Setremedes' head.


	2. Chapter II: The Wanderer's Tale

**Chapter II: The Wanderer's Tale**

Hours later, Setremedes stirred. Eyes fluttering open, he tried to take in what was around him - at first glance, very little. He blinked once, then twice, before realizing it was dark. Feeling around, he felt hard, cold stone - he was in a cave. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he got a better view of his surroundings - a crudely hewn chair was to his right, as were an assortment of weapons. The burnt-out ashes of a fire were before him, and he could see some slightly charred meat as well. Some leather skins hung off a few stone formations jutting from the walls of the cave, sewn together with surprising finesse. Staring at these skins, he saw that they were also sewn with some thick cloth, and were very large... large enough to fit..

"That orc!" he hissed, jumping to his feet and whirling about him. He could not see his captor in sight, but given the small number of possessions about him, it was clear that he was in the orc's "home". Setremedes surveyed the cave warily, suspiciously checking for any signs of an ambush. And yet... he wasn't bound, nor was he unarmed or unarmoured; he was still wearing his militia equipment, and he saw his sword nearby. Cautiously picking it up, he began looking for the mouth of the cave.

And a moment later, the orc stomped around the corner.

He was large, very large - though granted that wasn't saying much, given that most orcs were generally the breadth of two humans and at least as tall. Without his thick cloak on, as he was now only wearing a leather harness and some simple cloth pants, Setremedes could get a better look at him. He was well-muscled and had several scars, no doubt from battles past in the First and Second wars. The orc's face didn't seem as ugly as most that Setremedes had seen - both tusks seemed intact, and were only mildly yellow, as opposed to the rotting brown he had seen on some orcs. The orc's hair was elegently pulled back into a knot and was a handsome midnight black, though it was streaked with grey in some areas. He had a similarly coloured short beard which was braided.

He also held himself differently to some orcs Setremedes had seen; almost straight-backed, whereas most tended to be hunched over. His eyes were a muddy brown, as opposed to the burning red Setremedes had seen in some orcs, and they were watching him with a rather calculating look. He was hefting a large spear, which did not appear to be of human origin, but neither did it seem to be of orc design. Setremedes could only conclude that his captor must have forged it himself. He shuddered; what might he intend to do with such a dangerous-looking weapon? He readied his sword, again prepared for combat.

"You're awake. Good," the orc grunted, lowering his spear and striding over to the burnt-out fire. Setremedes stared, not a little shocked; not only did this orc seem to not consider him a threat, despite the sword he was holding, he had also just spoken clearly in Common.

"You... speak Common?" Setremedes said after a moment. The orc looked at him.

"I've learnt much of your language in the time I've spent on your world," he replied after a moment. His voice was rough, though seemed to hold no aggression, and his dialect was fluent, if heavily accented. "Here," he said, holding out a piece of the meat Setremedes had seen. The Southshore guard stared at the meat - was it a trick? Had he perhaps poisoned it?

"Eat," the orc insisted, "you have been unconcious for some time. You need food."

Setremedes still stared suspiciously at the meat.

"Look," the orc grunted impatiently, tearing off a haunch and biting into it. After swallowing he grunted, "Now eat."

Despite himself, Setremedes couldn't help but smell the meat - it at least smelt somewhat appetizing, and his stomach gave a somewhat large rumble. Slowly, he grasped the meat, and, not taking his eyes of the orc, slowly bit into it.

As he did, the orc reached behind him. Setremedes dropped the meat, drawing his sword again, but the orc merely held out a waterskin.

"You'll be thirsty, too," he grunted, again unpeturbed by the blade his "guest" was holding. Setremedes stared.

"Why are you offering me this?" he asked, his voice battling with both curiosity and suspicion. "Food, water... shelter... you... we're enemies," he finished lamely. The orc merely grunted, tearing off another strip of meat and chewing it, not looking at Setremedes, nor answering his question. Setremedes slowly accepted the waterskin, taking a sip - the water was crisp and clear; the orc must have obtained it from a very clean spring. He picked up the meat and took another bite.

They ate in silence, awkward silence, human and orc, and while the orc seemed determined not to look at Setremedes, Setremedes would not stop staring at the orc. He was still suspicious, though also uncertain - why had this orc saved him, and was now offering him food and water? This was a member of the Horde - they were supposed to be mortal enemies. Indeed, Setremedes thought he should be running this monster through with his blade, and yet he didn't... He owed his life to this creature.

"Who are you? Why did you save me?" he asked finally. "You and me... orc and human... we're supposed to be fighting each other. Our people hate each other. Our people have warred against each other. Why did you save me?" he asked again. The orc didn't answer immediately, still not looking at Setremedes.

"War is a fool's passtime, for those who wish to spill blood for their own desires," he answered finally. "I choose not to be a fool. I battle for myself and for survival - I do not war against those who do not deserve it."

Setremedes couldn't believe what he was hearing. An orc saying that he doesn't war against people who don't deserve it?

"You have to be joking. Your people invaded our world and waged war on us," he said angrily, "How can you say that you don't war against those who don't deserve it?"

"I don't fight for my people, I fight for myself," the orc repeated bluntly. "My people are shamed and tainted, and I choose not to associate myself with them."

"So, what, you've abandoned your Horde?" Setremedes said disbelievingly.

"You could say that," said the orc, still not looking at him. "War is for naught, and there are no true heroes when death is on the menu."

"Hmph. Some might say that. Others might say that the true winners are the ones who fight righteously, to defend their world and cleanse it of taint," Setremedes said haughtily. The orc was not fooled, and bristled immediately.

"Some might say that sunshine follows thunder," he growled angrily, finally turning to face the human, "Go and tell it to the man who cannot shine! Do you really think that slaughtering us will bring you to a better age? How would your people live with such blood on their hands? By comitting such an act, you would have just as dark a chapter in your history as we have in ours."

"I think that given the atrocities you have infliced upon us, we're within our rights to fight fire with fire," Setremedes countered, "Did you really think that we would not react viciously to such treatment? You enslaved, tortured and slaughtered us during the wars. Do not expect us to take that lightly."

"I didn't," the orc replied stubbornly. "As narrow-minded as ever, just like a typical human. Does your kind ever stop and think that not all orcs are alike? That we do not all think the same?"

"Given the lust for our blood your kind had in the war, I would find it hard to believe otherwise," Setremedes snapped. "Your people pressed on, never stopping to act diplomatically. Never trying to settle things peacefully."

"Oh really?" the orc growled. "And if we offered you the banner of peace, would you really accept it, given the acts we commited that you mentioned?"

Setremedes bit his lip - he wanted to say "yes" just to prove this orc wrong, but in his heart he knew that many humans, dwarves, gnomes and elves would much rather continue to battle against the orcs out of vengeance. Before he could respond, the orc was speaking again.

"My people were not always the bloodthirsty Horde you battled against," he said evenly, somewhat calmer now. "We were a simple people, tribal in culture. Primitive, by your kinds' standards. But we were still warlike. What we were not, however, was bloodthirsty. We battled, but never for conquest or personal gain. We battled for survival, as our land was a harsh one. But at the same time we lived off that land, and in harmony with it. We had shamans, who led our people spiritually, and while our life was not always pleasant, it was bearable.

"Our people were not always united," he continued, and as he said it his eyes briefly misted, as though remembering a long-forgotten memory, "We were split into individual clans. Warsong, Thunderlord, Shadowmoon, Blackrock, Redwalker... Our tribes were numerous, spread far and wide, and we had our own distinctive traits and customs. We sometimes battled out of necessity, but for many seasons, our people knew relative peace.

"And then our people changed," he growled, the look in his eyes going from that of bittersweet remembrance to anger. "Our leaders did something; what it was, I still do not know. Our leader, Ner'zhul, managed to do what had never been done before - he united our people under one banner: the Horde. He and his apprentice, Gul'dan, and their companions, did.. I do not know what they did. But our culture was forever changed, shattered... shamed. We became ravenous, and bloodthirsty. We did... things... atrocious things... unspeakable things..."

The orc fell silent momentarily and shivered. Setremedes listened raptly; he was learning what many historians craved to know... the past of the orcs! Then the orc continued.

"Our shamans no longer spoke to the land, and similarly the land refused to commune with my people. We were crazed, frenzied. After our first..." Again, he shuddered, and pulled himself together. "Gul'dan lead our people. The change was abrupt, for Ner'zhul was the one who initially united us. Gul'dan promised us worlds to conquer, with creatures to slaughter for us to sate our bloodlust. He led us to your world.

"Intitially the Horde charged through, willingly butchering your kind. And... you know the rest. You know how the events of the wars unfolded. My people's bloodlust, coupled with Gul'dan's treachery, proved to be our undoing. We could not function as a war machine forever... we lost."

"And where do you fit into this?" Setremedes asked quietly.

"I said earlier that not all orcs think alike. I am one of them, as you have likely realized. One chieftain that spoke out against Gul'dan was Durotan of the Frostwolves. He was exiled for his actions, but I do not know what became of him or his clan. Dead, likely," the orc said, spitting onto the ashes of the fire. "Durotan was one of the first to see what we had become. After my people commited our first horrors, he knew what had to be done, and was exiled for it.

"I come from a now-defunct clan called the Whiteclaw. We supported the Frostwolf clan, and also strongly opposed the changes Ner'zhul and his ilk enforced upon our people. As punishment, my clan was annhiliated, by the Horde... by my own people. It was then, as if I needed more evidence, that I saw the futility in fighting for my people. We were no pure... we had been corrupted, so deeply, in our blood, our bone... our very essence, we had become mindless savages. It was then that I renounced my loyalty to my people. My people died the day Ner'zhul and his minions made whatever pact they made... I have no people."

He spat again and lapsed into silence while Setremedes tried to process this information. Before he could say anything, however, the orc was speaking again.

"I wandered my homeland, living off the wilds and avoiding my former people. I soon found, with great pleasure, that we had been defeated, and good riddance. Where had our mindless butchery brought us? I was glad to see justice had been done. But our former shamans, in their lust for power, had done much to the land in the absence of the Horde. It had become diseased... It was dying. But Ner'zhul wasn't done trying to kill my former people," he snarled. "He hatched another plan, this time to try and lead us to another world... What manner of fool was that bastard? Had not he learnt from our previous actions that our dishonourable slaughter had been the death of us?

"He sent some clans back into your world to retrieve objects... What those were, I can only guess. But they must have been of some import, for your people soon followed. Now your people invaded my world, not that I can truly blame you. I watched as the tide of battle turned back and forth while Ner'zhul plotted and waited from his citadel... And eventually, he did it."

Now the orc's face contorted with rage.

"He opened more portals. He wanted to invade more worlds. And it cost us everything... everything we had. Our honour, our ancestry, our lives... and then our world. The pain of it killed our planet. Your people began to close the portal while we fled for our very lives back to your world. I remember... running toward the portal while chunks of the earth were ripped from the ground like pebbles, the seas flooding the mountains, the sky itself rent in two... The magic that Ner'zhul wrought killed our home.

"The survivors regrouped with Grom Hellscream, chieftain of the Warsong clan. We fled to an old Horde outpost called Stonard. It was there that the survivors of our people were spoken down to by a half-breed. He spat the truth that I had known for years - that we fought not for nobility or survival, but merely for conquest and gain. We had not changed at all. Still we futilely fought. That half-breed was right... He stormed from the swamp, and I followed mere days later. It pained me to see that even after all our losses, still my people had not learnt."

As the orc finished his story, he heaved a great sigh. Setremedes mulled over everything he had just heard. This orc had acknowledged the atrocities his kind had commited, and was just as disgusted by them as any human, dwarf, gnome or elf Setremedes had met. And in light of this story, Setremedes realized just how prejudiced the Alliance was toward the Horde - not all orcs were the bloodthirsty savages they had been made out to be. Both sides were at fault.

"I have travelled far across your land, living my life much like I did on my homeland. As I said, I have learnt your language. And I have a respect for your people - while many of your kind fight out of vengeance, which is understandable given the circumstances, many more fight for what you call righteousness and justice... my people would have once called it honour and nobility. And that is why I helped you. For honour and nobility."

The orc stood up, raising a hand in a salute.

"I am Torgall the Wanderer, though once upon a happier time I went by the name Torgall Bloodax."

Setremedes stood as well, extending his hand. "Thankyou. I am Setremedes of the Southshore militia." It felt odd, acknowledging an orc, not as an enemy but as an equal. He had once thought of orcs as a brutal, murderous race, but now he did not know what to think. He looked around once more, and saw that Torgall seemed to live a very rough life.

"How long have you been in Lordaeron?" he asked. The orc looked around as well, thinking.

"Almost four seasons now," he replied after a few moments. "I have moved from place to place for a time after arriving but settled in this cave some time ago. The game is good and with your people relaxing after the wars, it has been easier to evade capture. At times I have also encountered other orcs, living like me - free, cautious, wary... I shun their company and avoid them."

Setremedes nodded, and then paused, a new thought occuring to him.

"How long have I been out?"

Torgall shrugged. "Quite some time. It is dark now, and we are quite some distance from Southshore."

Setremedes started at this. "I have to get back! The guard might have proclaimed me dead!" He looked around for the cave exit, but Torgall shook his head.

"No, you ought to wait until the morn. I have scouted the forests at night before - the darkness makes it easy to get lost or trapped in undergrowth... or ambushed," he added, growling the last. "Stay and rest. You have not yet likely recovered your strength."

"I must return!" Setremedes insisted, moving towards the tunnel where he saw Torgall enter, but Torgall held out one of his huge arms.

"That is out of the question," he growled, "there are still bandits swarming these forests. You will not survive the trip. You don't even know the way. And then the guard *will* have to proclaim you dead."

Setremedes opened his mouth to protest, but realized that the orc was right. As both he sat down once more on the stone, Torgall reached up to an overhanging rock and pulled down several thick furs. He offered one to Setremedes, who accepted it curiously. Torgall then lay the fur down as a makeshift bed. Setremedes thanked him and lay down, wondering if this was real, or if he were simply still unconcious.


	3. Chapter III: The New Horde

**Chapter III: The New Horde**

The next morning, human and orc arose, whether in well-defended towns or hastily raised camps, both sides regarding the other as the enemy. In a cave several miles from Southshore, however, both a human and orc awoke, and neither regarded the other as an enemy - rather, each accepted the other as a mutual companion.

"I thank you again for saving me, and for your hospitality," Setremedes said as he stretched - the furs were not what one would consider comparable to the beds in the barracks, and even _those _weren't overly comfortable - as such, his sleep was not undisturbed.

"It was no problem," grunted Torgall. "During the winter I found that the chill in the cave was near unbearable, so I prepared myself a second fur. Food is readily available given the game available in the forest, and I know of several seldom used springs nearby."

But _where _was nearby? Setremedes thought to himself. Try as he might, he could not spot Southshore anywhere over the horizon, despite as much neck-craning as he could muster. Torgall saw him looking about, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"The town of Southshore is in that direction," he said, pointing to the east. "You can either travel through the forest to reach your destination, or you may travel south for an hour or so. You will reach the coastline, and may find it easier to traverse."

"And you're sure about that?" Setremedes asked, staring intently in the direction Torgall had indicated, but unable to view any buildings or even watchtowers.

"I'm certain," the orc replied. "I have scouted these forests many times, and am very confident in my directional capabilities... but I must warn you, orcs are still abound, and not all of them will be as welcoming as I... if any."

"I understand," said Setremedes, gripping the handle of his sword briefly. "I may choose to take the coastal route - I suspect I'll be less likely to be ambushed."

"A wise choice," Torgall grunted. "It is the longer route, but arguable the safer one. And now, I must ask you before you depart..."

The orc faced Setremedes squarely, staring him directly in the eyes.

"Will you reveal my hiding place to your human fellows?"

Setremedes stared, somewhat surprised by the question.

"Surely after all you've done, you don't think I'd-"

"Will you reveal my hiding place... my home...?"

Torgall said it sharply and directly, and Setremedes realized that the orc wanted the assurance that he would be able to live out the rest of his days in peace. This orc had done no wrong to Setremedes or his race in general - surely he deserved that right.

Meeting his gaze equally, Setremedes said firmly, "I swear that I will not betray your presence to my people."

"Would you swear by blood?" the orc asked. Setremedes paused, uncertain what he meant by that - but honour demanded that he not betray his newfound ally. He nodded.

Torgall reached to his belt and removed a large hunting knife. Setremedes watched, shocked, as the orc calmly, without even flinching, drew the blade across the palm of his huge hand. Blood immediately began to pool, but Torgall looked up, apparently unconcerned, and held out both his hand and the knife.

Setremedes then realized what he was expected to do.

He held out his palm and accepted the knife, shaking somewhat - never had he performed something as obscure as this, and he was unsure how well he would take it. Breathing deeply and bracing himself for the pain, he dragged the tip of his blade across his own palm. He gave a wince of pain, which became a grunt, which became a shout, but did not relent, and soon his hand, too, was also bleeding profusely.

The two then shook their bloodied hands.

"I thank you for your secrecy in this matter," Torgall said, relieved. "I wish for no quarrel with the humans... I have seen enough battle and bloodshed in my time."

Setremedes nodded, his eyes watering. Torgall reached into his pocket and drew out a ragged, but mostly clean, bandage.

"I've sometimes had to steal these from settlements and camps," he explained, handing it to Setremedes. The Southshore guard accepted it gratefully, tightly winding it around his wounded hand. It still throbbed painfully, but at least the bleeding would slow, perhaps stop altogether.

"Until we meet again," said Setremedes, raising his bloodied hand in salute. Torgall smiled, doing likewise. The orc had made no effort to attend to his own wound, but similarly he did not appear to be bothered by it. Setremedes turned and headed south, toward the coast - at least the long route would give him plenty of time to think of a cover-up story.

* * *

Torgall watched the human leave, blood dripping from his hand onto the stone he stood upon. It would be some time before Setremedes would reach Southshore, possibly near nightfall, but as long as he kept his wits about him, he would be in no real danger. He was confident that his secret would not be betrayed - he trusted the human, and could tell that he had honour.

The orc turned northward - he needed to replenish his water supplies. Reaching toward the mouth of the cave where several of his waterskins hung on some rocks jutting outward, he chose two and nimbly leapt from the rocky outcropping to the ground below. He landed heavily yet gracefully, and began trudging through the dense undergrowth.

Before long he had reached one of the streams that he obtained his water from. A few forest animals were already there, having a morning drink. Looking about him, Torgall sighed. This was what it was like back before the orcs where corrupted, when they had lived on an unscarred Draenor. True, the planet was not as peaceful as Azeroth, but it had its own rugged beauty to it. Harsh as it was, Torgall realized how much he truly felt for the planet, and similarly grieved for its loss.

Heaving another, heavier sigh, he leant down - but immediately straightened, ears pricked and wary. He revolved slowly on the spot, withdrawing another bandage as he did so and wrapping it tightly around his hand - he could sense another being nearby, and needed no impediment of a bleeding appendage should battle commence. He carefully and quietly drew the hunting knife that he and Setremedes had used from his belt. The animals around him looked up as he did so - evidently they had not noticed or sensed what Torgall could.

Quietly and carefully, more than one would imagine possible for a being of his girth, Torgall tread lightly along the bank of the stream and around a nearby tree. Peering slowly about, he listened intently. The wind rustled the leaves quietly, and some birds nearby twittered to one another, but he could not hear anything out of the ordinary. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply through his nose, sniffing the air for any scents that should not be.

As he did so, there was the quiet crack of a twig. To any nearby it would be near inaudible, but to Torgall while he was concentrating on enhancing his senses, it rang out like a gunshot. Eyes snapping open, he held the knife ready and leapt around the tree, snarling at...

Another orc. Torgall almost dropped the knife in surprise, but caught himself, realizing that it was not out of the ordinary for others to be in the wilderness. He simply had not intended to encounter others at one of his hideaways.

The orc in question was a female, and held two long blades at the ready. She seemed relieved that the being she encountered was another orc. She was a good head shorter than Torgall, but seemed well-muscled nonetheless. Her hair was a dark maroon-brown and hung at shoulder length, somehow seeming both wild and neat at the same time. She had two nose rings, gold but small. She had green eyes that matched her skin, and she also had a bow and quiver slung around her back.

"I greet you," she said in Orcish. Torgall started - it had been so long since he had spoken to another orc, let alone spoken in Orcish.

"Throm-Ka," he replied thickly, though he did not truly mean it - he no longer held respect for orcs, so he used "well met" only as a nicety.

"What is your name, stranger? I have not seen you around these parts," she asked.

"I am Torgall the Wanderer," he answered, purposely not meeting her gaze. Her eyes narrowed.

"The Wanderer? Do you seek to mislead me? What is your true name? What is your clan?"

"That _is _my true name," Torgall growled in response, "and I have no clan. Your Horde saw to that."

Her eyes narrowed further. "What do you mean by that, stranger?"

"Never you mind. Now it is my turn to ask the questions. Who are you, and why are you here? Are you alone, or do you belong to one of the clans who have still managed to evade capture?"

At this, the female laughed heartily. Torgall glared at her suspiciously - given the brutality he had suffered from his own people in the past, he would not be surprised if this were some sort of ambush. He tightened his grip on his knife.

"Evade capture? Alone? Where have you been, _Wanderer_? I am Greshka of the Horde, and I have come to gather water for my people... _Our _people," she corrected, eyeing him carefully as she said the last.

"'Gathering water for the Horde?'" Torgall repeated incredulously, laughing in turn now. "I have seen what is left of your 'Horde'. Slumped in prison camps built by the Alliance, defeated both by them and your own shameful bloodlust."

Again, Greshka laughed, louder than ever. "You truly must not know! Have you not heard of the New Horde, led by our Warchief Thrall?"

Torgall snorted. "Thrall? What sort of an orc calls himself a slave, let alone proclaims himself warchief of the orcs? What an amusing joke you tell, Gre-"

He was cut short with a pained grunt as her fist collided with his jaw - he tasted blood, and the lip was no doubt split. He fell hard on his back, so great was the force of her blow. He looked up to see her towering over him with one of her blades pointed at his neck, fury in her eyes.

"No one insults Warchief Thrall!" she snarled, "He is the greatest Warchief we have had, equal to the great Doomhammer! He raised the veil of lies from our eyes and showed us the truth, returned us to the old ways! I shall not allow you to speak ill of him with your disrespectful, clanless tongue!"

She spat on him, and he stared up in shock. A new Horde? A warchief called Thrall? Returning to the old ways? But moreover, this female had a very deadly blade poised to strike and kill, and she seemed more than ready to use it, even against another orc.

"Who is this Thrall," he asked evenly, certain not to allow any tone in his voice that might incite offense, "and what is this you speak of returning to the old ways?"

That seemed to work - Greshka slowly lowered her blade and stepped back, seemingly calmer now. "Warchief Thrall is the one who freed us from our stupor and is helping us cleanse ourselves from the demons of our past," she explained gently. "Heir to the Frostwolf clan, he has shown us once more the noble art of Shamanism and, donning the plate of the great Doomhammer, has led us to victory and glory over our captors."

Torgall bit back a retort regarding the humans - he did not wish to aggravate this female once more; her battle fury seemed potent, and given he was armed only with a hunting knife, he felt it would not be a wise decision to force a confrontation. Furthermore, he was now very much interested in learning more about this 'Thrall' - had he truly rediscovered the power of the elements for his people? Did shamanism even _work _on Azeroth?

"Tell me more, Greshka," he said quietly. "This new and illustrious warchief, the rediscovery of our ancestry, the freedom of our people... tell me _everything_."

Greshka laughed once more, turning away from him. "Come see it for yourself."

She led him away from the trees, through the forest and undergrowth. The had trekked only for a short time before Torgall could hear it - the steady pounding of orcish wardrums, the shouts and laughter of other orcs, the smell of fires and cooking meats. As they pushed through the final boughs and branches to enter a huge field, Torgall felt his jaw drop.

Before him were orcs - hundreds of orcs, possibly thousands. All bore the marks of having been in the camps set up by the humans, yet here they were, no longer listless and wallowing, but full of life and energy - laughing, eating, drinking, sparring. Here and there tents were set up and fires, ranging from small campfires to raging bonfires, were crackling merrily, roasting animals hunted from the surrounding forest. At the far side of the field, Torgall could make out a figure wearing the famed black plate armour of Orgrim Doomhammer and wielding the famous hammer for which it was named - this was no doubt the Warchief Thrall Greshka spoke of.

"Welcome," she said, smirking at Torgall's stunned disbelief, "to the New Horde."


	4. Chapter IV: Thieves in the Night

**Chapter IV: Thieves in the Night**

Torgall had, for many long years, given up hope of returning to the old ways - to the old life. But since his happenstance meeting with Greshka and enlistment into the New Horde, it was as though someone had lit a fire inside his soul - he now had a passion, a will to live life to its fullest. Where once he was despondent and lived out a solitary hermit existence, he now embraced life and all it had to offer. It was Greshka who helped him adapt - after so much time out of his people's culture, it seemed very alien for him to suddenly be thrust back into orcish society.

The New Horde was quite large - Greshka had explained that under Doomhammer's, and later Thrall's, leadership, the Warsong and Frostwolf clans had broken free orcs from several internment camps before assaulting Durnholde itself. With the destructinon of Durnholde and the death of Aedelas Blackmoore, leader of the internment camps, it was ease itself for the New Horde to travel from camp to camp, shattering the walls and freeing their people.

Torgall was glad and impressed to know that Thrall held much disdain for the thought of what Gul'dan and his warlocks had done to his people. Torgall was even more impressed when Greshka told him that Thrall sought not war with the humans, but peace. The tone in Greshka's voice suggested she did not think highly of that plan, but Torgall knew that she, like many of the orcs in the New Horde, did not hold much in their opinion of the humans. However, Torgall also knew that Greshka and the other orcs were far too grateful for Thrall's wise leadership of the New Horde to disobey or disrespect him.

Given the New Horde's large size, and the fact that they needed to continue moving to avoid confrontation with the humans, there was little in the way of shelter when it had to stop, whether it be for an evening or, as was the case for the moment, a week or more. It was fortunate that the winter had already passed for that year, as Torgall did wonder how the New Horde would cope without adequete shelter in harsher weather - while this nomadic lifestyle was not new to Torgall (granted, never in such large numbers), he usually had his own shelter to speak of - nights were now spent under the stars in the hopes that rain would not approach. Food and water were, fortunately, not a problem - the New Horde seemed very efficient at rationing both, and there was plenty to be gained from the surrounding forests.

On this particular evening, it was crisp and warm. The New Horde had settled days earlier in a large clearing with several creeks nearby - Torgall, having decided not to join in the Horde's energetic festivities for the evening, was resting along the edge of the large glade. The hubbub of the orcs was not quite as loud here, and contrasted nicely with the trickling of the water and the crickets that were coming out for the evening. Torgall had spent much of his day sparring and collecting firewood for the evening bonfires, and was rather spent - as such, he was settled on a rock, humming tunelessly to himself as he sharpened his new axe. After joining the New Horde, Greshka had commissioned an axe for him to be made - other than his hunting knife, Torgall had left all his other "possessions" at his cave, and had not returned to retrieve them.

The axe was finely crafted - Torgall had forgotten how sturdy orc craftsmanship was, yet balanced. Most of the Alliance races dismissed orc weaponry and equipment as crude, primitive or shoddy. In actuality, orc weapons were solid and unlikely to break or shatter, and were sharper than at first appearance. Similarly, orc armour, while simple, provided adequete protection while not hindering the wearer. Torgall frowned at that - humans seemed to overdo their equipment, seemingly caring for appearance as well as protection. Human armour was impressive to look at, but Torgall imagined it must have been very cumbersome.

The axe he was sharpening was no exception to orc craft. The smith had Torgall test several handles to see which would fit his hand most effectively. Next he had to test Torgall's arm muscle strength to know how heavy and solid the axehead would need to be so as to maximise how fast and hard Torgall could swing the axe without losing power to the weight of the weapon, or having to worry about damaging it. While orc craftmanship was secure, it wasn't indestructable.

His ears perked - there were footsteps on the stone. He turned his head to see Greshka approaching, wearing a simpler set of clothes. She did not have her swords with her, though her bow and arrows were still slung over her back - Torgall had yet to see her without them.

"I've noticed that you've been thoroughly integrating yourself with the rest of the Horde," she said, seating herself next to him while he resumed sharpening the axe. "You've been enjoying yourself," she added, smirking.

"After many years spent lonesome, I've forgotten what it feels like to be a true orc," Torgall replied, cleaning the end of the axehead.

"How come you didn't join with the other orcs who were free before Thrall?" she enquired, gesturing towards orcs who bore the mark of the Warsong clan. Torgall paused, his lips pursed. He decided that she deserved to know, being a fellow orc. He told her of his clan, of how he and his kin felt about the changes Ner'zhul imposed upon their people, and how they were punished for their disobedience. He told her of how he wandered Draenor while the Old Horde went about making war upon the humans whom did not deserve it, while Ner'zhul plotted to conquer more worlds. She listened intently, occasionally making noise of praise or agreement, at other times vehemently exclaiming or disagreeing.

"I see..." she said slowly and quietly when he had finished. "I cannot say that I agree with you on all of your points, but I think I understand your reasoning... I, too, feel it was shameful, the way that we were tainted, but... did you ever drink the Blood?"

"The what?" Torgall said blankly.

"The Blood," said Greshka impatiently. "No, you wouldn't have, if you are of Whiteclaw... The Blood is what Gul'dan made us drink. I do not know what it was but since then our people have been overcome with a savage bloodlust. That is why we slaughtered the Draenei-" At that, Torgall shuddered visibly, though Greshka, who was not looking at him, but at the New Horde, did not notice. "-and then turned on ourselves. It is only because we were promised new worlds to conquer that we willingly went through the Dark Portal and made war upon the humans."

"That's your justification, is it?" Torgall snapped savagely, "You had bloodlust, so you sated it by warring on those who did not deserve it? Gul'dan should have allowed the Horde to consume itself."

Greshka did not lash out in response, but replied calmly, "But you just put your finger on the problem. Gul'dan. It was he who made us drink the Blood and shamed us; it was he who opened the Portal; it was he who sent us to war with the humans. We were overcome with a bloodrage, and had no control."

"You could have refused!" Torgall exclaimed; Greshka shook her head.

"You never tasted it, did you? The Blood, it gave us power, strength... we could do nothing but battle, kill, slaughter... We were easily overcome. And even if we could disobey, we would not - we saw what had happened to the Frostwolves; exiled. Or your own clan. And we were deceived - we had been united and felt Ner'zhul and Gul'dan were leading us to a new age. We thought the Blood would help us reach that new age. We were tricked, and paid the price."

She nodded in a different direction - Torgall looked northward and saw a ruined tower of the horizon, which belonged to an internment camp. He turned back to Greshka and opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped, listening. Greshka, too, heard it - a slight rustling from the nearby trees. Torgall silently got to his feet, hefting the huge axe, but Greshka shook her head. She rose, preparing her bow and arrow silently and squinting into the darkness. Torgall scanned the bushes intently, but could see nothing. A moment later, there was a near-silent _fweeeeeee-thip_ followed by a loud yelp as Greshka let loose her arrow. They both rushed forward and rummaged in the bushes. Torgall felt fur and leather - together, they heaved a huge and strange creature out of the bushes.

It was shorter than a human, but taller than a dwarf. It had a disproportionately large, furry body which was caused by a large hunchback. Its legs were reverse-joined and had less fur than the body and ended in paws, and while they looked skinny compared to the rest of the body, Torgall could see they were deceptively powerful. The arms, too, seemed shorter than normal but had muscle enough to heft a large axe or mace - this strange creature merely held a handaxe. If it was scouting, as Torgall had assumed, it would not wish to carry a cumbersome weapon. A large tuft of fur grew out of the hunchback, which drew forward to a face with canine-like features that were drawn into a surprised snarl. Torgall had thought he had seen creatures like this before but had never seen one up close. He looked at Greshka enquiringly.

"A gnoll," she replied grimly. "Savage little beasts, they know some basic skills... Like killing and making fire," she snorted. "The Horde has encountered them a few times but they've generally been too afraid to attack us, not in our numbers... Search him."

Torgall obeyed. The creature had little armour on - a leather harness and some ragged cloth pants, little more. The belt had a knife on it; Torgall handed both weapons to Greshka, who accepted them silently and nodded him to continue his search. Before long he discovered a small, worn piece of parchment. A poorly drawn picture had been scribbled on it; it was so simplistic it took him a moment to realize it was a very bad map of the Horde's camp. He looked up to see Greshka was studying it as well, frowning.

"If this map is correct... I think those are our food stores," she muttered, pointing at several X's that had been marked. "Audacious, making a move against us... but they seem to have been studying us for some time now... I guess that's what happens when we settle for more than a week. Cover by night, of course... they're a bit smarter than we give them credit for."

She straightened up, beckoning Torgall to follow her. Together they left the rocky outcropping, Torgall tossing away the rock he had used to sharpen his axe. They marched through the camps where other orcs were eating, sparring or generally enjoying themselves. Torgall smiled to himself to see little trace of the savagery or bloodlust that he had seen possess the Old Horde. He realized how harsh an opinion he had formulated of his own people after Greshka's words, but he had little time to dwell on the matter - he was proud to be once more among and serving his people, and already outsiders had moved against them. Before long they had reached the first tent where food was stored. Unfortunately, the gnolls had already been and gone.

"The little cretins!" Greshka snarled angrily, "The nerve, stealing from the Horde! We'll show those vermin not to cross us, and take back what's ours!"

Torgall nodded, gripping his axe. Greshka looked down at the weapons the gnoll they had found was holding, looking disappointed.

"I won't have time to retrieve my swords - by the time I have them, the gnolls could be long gone," she said regretfully. "I could track them, but tracks are easier to follow when they're fresher... These will have to do," she said, holding up the knife and axe. They were simply made, but could easily cause harm when applied correctly.

"Lead the way," Torgall said. Greshka turned on the spot and marched over to the nearby forest. Crouching, she studied the ground carefully.

"They fled this way," she said after a few moments, and together they charged into the undergrowth. None of the other orcs seemed to realize where they were going, and similarly no one else seemed to realize that the food stores had been raided. The gnolls had indeed been efficient in their thievery, Torgall thought grimly to himself; moreso than those clumsy thieves that had attacked Setremedes. He wondered, with a pang, how the human had fared - if he had even made it back to Southshore at all. But now was not the time to worry, as Greshka seemed to be hot on the trail. They might burst into a gnoll camp at any moment.

Abruptly, Greshka came to a halt. Torgall skidded in the dirt to avoid colliding into her, scuffing a huge cloud of dust into the night air. Greshka stood stock-still, eyes closed and clearly listening intently. Every few moments she would also sniff the air deeply, no doubt to try and pick up a scent. Around them the night creatures went about their business and chattered to one another, but nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be nearby. And then, just as abruptly as she had stopped, Greshka's eyes snapped open and she motioned to Torgall.

"This way," she whispered, and began to pace silently away, holding her bow in one hand. Torgall followed suit, holding his axe at the ready but attempting to maneuver silently at the same time. He wished he had smaller weapons like the gnoll that had encountered before, but he knew he was much more skilled with a large axe. After a few minutes of silent sneaking Torgall could hear barking and yelping; it took him a moment to realize it was laughter. After several more minutes of silent sneaking, Greshka carefully prised apart two small branches and peeked through. Motioning to Torgall to do the same, they both looked through the undergrowth.

Before them was a rather large camp of gnolls with several makeshift huts and campfires. They could see the sacks of food which were clearly looted from the Horde camp. The gnolls were all yelping gleefully to themselves, no doubt pleased with their success of stealing from such a large potential foe. Some were alarmingly large, almost as large as an orc, while others looked very runty; even smaller than the one Greshka slew. Some had a very odd garb; feather headresses, leather rags that made a makeshift robe and carrying rough wodden staves. Torgall concluded these must have been the elders. Greshka studied the scene for several minutes before pulling herself and Torgall away.

"I've looked carefully, and noticed several lurking away from the others, closer to the forest's edge. I can pick those off and we can remove the bodies before the others realize. I've also taken note of the positioning of their huts and fires; we can position ourselves when we confront them to minimize the numbers they can throw at us. The camp might seem large, but they are woefully unprepared for an ambush." She grinned in the moonlight. "We shall show them the folly of crossing the Horde."

Torgall nodded - it seemed like a sound plan, and not until they put it into action would they be able to confirm it. Together, they silently lurked around the edges of the camp, Greshka picking off gnolls with pinpoint accuracy, Torgall stealthily removing the bodies before any others noticed. Greshka frowned with concentration with each shot as she aimed with incredible accuracy - the gnolls barely had time to let out a little gasp of surprise before keeling over silently. Before long, they had circled the entire camp and Greshka had silently assassinated nearly an entire score of gnolls.

"And now the fun part," she whispered, grinning again. "You go in first - position yourself between that hut and fire - and I'll follow up with cover fire. Together we should be able to slay a majority of them... these are cowardly creatures, Torgall, once we have killed several they will likely attempt to flee."

Torgall nodded a second time, hefting his axe. "I'll get their attention then," he grunted, taking up position behind the hut and campfire Greshka had indicated. Holding his axe ready, he charged out of the undergrowth with a ferocious bellow.

The gnolls nearby looked around in startlement; the nearest only caught a glimpse of metal before Torgall sunk his axe into it deeply. The creature had barely just died before he wrenched it out, slamming the side of the blade against another gnoll with a sickening crunch; it collapsed, yelping in pain. Lunging forward, he grabbed one of the runtier ones and threw it bodily across the camp into another gnoll, and they tumbled away into the darkness.

A moment later there was a series of whistles, followed by several dull thwocks, which were in turn followed by pained yelps. Taking a moment to glance over his shoulder, Torgall saw Greshka loading, aiming, firing and re-loading with astounding speed and accuracy. Over and over she loosed arrows, and gnolls fell before them without even knowing whom they had hit been hit by.

Returning to the battle at hand, Torgall saw one of the larger brutes stepping up, heaving a huge mace. Twisting his face into a menacing snarl, Torgall waved his axe challengingly. In response the gnoll barked furiously, hefting its mace (which was as tall as Torgall and almost as broad) and moving forward. The other gnolls backed away to give it room, only to collapse moments later under Greshka's arrows.

The brute struck with surprising swiftness; Torgall nimbly leapt to the side to avoid the blow. Fortunately, the cumbersome weapon rendered the brute momentarily defenceless. _Un_fortunately, Torgall unintentionally leapt into the side of the nearby hut and cursed himself for forgetting about it in the midst of combat; it may have been a fatal mistake. While the hut and fire kept the gnolls from flanking him, he could not allow himself to be foolish and let his advantage become his own disadvantage. Had the brute not been recovering from its unwieldy swing, Torgall knew he would be in much trouble.

The brute came at him again but this time Torgall was ready. Holding the axe up, he managed to block the blow - barely. With both of them using such huge weapons, a parry would be impossible, but by holding his ground he was able to surprise the gnoll. Utilizing this he shoved the gnoll backwards, causing it to lose its balance. Starting foward, he swung the axe powerfully, but was determined not to make the same mistake as his adversary - while his blow missed, barely, he was able to regain control of his weapon immediately, without being rendered useless by its weight. He briefly commended the orc whom had crafted his axe.

Behind him, Greshka continued covering Torgall's flank to stop the gnolls from attacking from behind. Before long however, the gnolls saw her as a genuine threat and, with Torgall tied up fighting one of the brutes, decided to focus their attention on her instead. Dropping her bow, she quickly drew the hand axe and knife that Torgall had taken from the gnoll she had slain earlier. Seeing the weapons of their own design, the gnolls snarled in fury - they no doubt realized she had taken it from the body of one their own.

The first that charged her was one of the runts, wielding a small but wicked blade. Greshka swiftly parried it with the hand axe before plunging the knife into the gnoll's chest. It gave a choking cough of blood, and as Greshka wrenched the knife out she kicked it to the side where it writhed pathetically. She quickly brought the axe down where it bit deeply into the neck of another gnoll charging her - too deeply. While the gnoll was now going to inevitably die, she knew it would take far too much time and effort in the heat of battle to pull the axe from her dying opponent. Glancing down, she saw this one was wielding a longsword which, judging by the design, had been stolen at some point or another from a human. Deciding quickly, she released the axe and snatched the blade from the howling gnoll, relieved that she would not have to face the remaining gnolls armed only with a knife.

Meanwhile, Torgall was pressing his advantage against the brute. These gnolls had little strategy when fighting, particularly this one - its only tactic seemed to be to swing its weapon. This tactic was working very badly for the brute, as the huge mace it was using made heavy swings unwieldy, throwing it off balance and being an inefficient way to employ one's energy. As such, while Torgall was able to strike with consistency and precision while minimalising use of energy, the brute frequently swung widely with little chance of actually landing a blow, and was quickly becoming exhausted.

It attempted to advance, bringing the mace down in a huge overhead swing, likely with the intent of crushing Torgall's skull, but the orc merely stepped aside as he had with the previous blows. With that, Torgall stepped forward and brought his axe down. The blade cleanly bit into and through the neck, and the head rolled away. Torgall briefly caught a slimpse of its face; it seemed to be snarling in fury, no doubt from losing control of its weapon again. He shook his own head, still safely attached to his neck, in resignation. He felt no shame in striking the gnoll while it was down - it had had plenty of opportunities to learn from its mistake, but chose not to, and paid the price for it. Not learning from one's mistakes proved fatal in battle.

With the skillful execution of their brute, coupled with Greshka's hail of proverbial death, the remaining gnolls were viewing the intruders into their camp with renewed fear. After a few moments, one of them gave a yelp before fleeing into the undergrowth. The others quickly followed suit. Their terrified cries echoed into the night, while the two orcs stood victorious. Torgall turned to Greshka.

"It was an honour to fight with you, Greshka," he said, bowing. She bowed in return.

"And I, you," she replied. Together they stood by the light of the campfires, relishing their victory.


	5. Chapter V: Exodus of the Horde

**Chapter V: Exodus of the Horde**

Torgall and Greshka awoke at first light. They had both agreed that in the darkness, it would be too difficult to retrace their steps back to the Horde. As such, they decided to stay in the now-abandoned gnoll camp which they had so thoroughly cleared earlier. Given the veritable slaughter of the gnolls, they had little to fear of the former inhabitants returning seeking retribution. With the light of the morning, they would be able to return to the Horde with little difficulty.

"We won't be able to return with all of the supplies, obviously," Greshka said as they stretched, blinking in the bright sunlight. "But I'll inform my superior; he's one of Thrall's military lieutenants. He'll organize a party to return and recover the goods." She looked around at the camp, which, despite the furious battle it had experienced the previous night, was still mostly intact. "We might be able to acquire some other equipment from this camp, too."

Torgall frowned. "I thought looting and plundering was part of the Old Horde's ways?"

"We fought those gnolls honourably in combat and rightfully claimed this 'settlement' as our own," she replied, strapping her quiver to her back, "and looting and plundering is generally an act commited against civilians. Those gnolls most certainly knew what they were doing when they willingly stole from our supplies, and paid the price. And besides, as the warriors who did the conquering, we get first rights at the spoils." She looked around at the various weapons and other equipment littered around the camp and scowled. "Granted, that's not saying much."

"Very well - do you know the way back to the Horde?" Torgall asked, similarly strapping his axe on.

"I have a vague idea, but my vague ideas can prove accurate, at least in daylight," she answered, shrugging. "Follow me."

Together they left the gnoll encampment, trudging through the dense surrounding forest. Despite himself not knowing where they were going, Torgall trusted Greshka's judgement - she had led them impeccably led them from the Horde to the gnolls in pitch darkness the previous night with nothing but indistinct tracks and scents to follow, and he had no doubt that she would be able to lead them back.

Sure enough, before long he could hear the sounds of other orcs ahead. Together they broke into a run and burst into the large clearing where the Horde was assembled. Torgall frowned slightly - there seemed to be a great deal of order compared to the energy and carelessness of the Horde of the previous night; everyone seemed alert and ready, as though prepared to leave or engage in battle at a moment's notice. Torgall could not see why; a few extra tents and even a building here and there had been erected in their absence, but he could not see any signs of an attack, nor a sudden need to evacuate. Surely this was not because of the missing supplies the gnolls took?

Greshka, too, was frowning at the almost unnatural order that contrasted with the previous night.

"Stay here," she ordered to Torgall, who nodded. She stalked off among the other orcs and was quickly out of sight. Torgall looked around, trying to discern what or why was the reason for this abrupt change. They had moved already once before since he had joined the New Horde, but there had not been this much stiffness and quiet. Everyone had been working hard, but were happy, jovial, joking with one another - now, however, it seemed as though the Horde as a whole was prepared for an ambush.

A few moments later Greshka returned, and with her was another orc. He was huge, even by orc standards - Torgall briefly thought he may be half-ogre, but he realized part of this other orc's girth was due to thick, heavy wolfskins he was wearing. Nonetheless, he was still extremely burly. He carried himself confidently, and a several partings in the wolfskins displayed many battle scars for all to see. He held a huge axe with ease, and Torgall knew this was a seasoned veteran.

"Torgall, I'd like you to meet my commanding officer, Nazgrel," said Greshka. The huge orc stepped forward and raised his axe in salute. Torgall did likewise.

"Throm-Ka," Torgall grunted respectfully.

"Throm-Ka," replied Nazgrel roughly; his voice sounded like gravel. "I am Nazgrel of the Frostwolf Clan, raider of the Sythgore Arm and last descendant of Kash'drakor. I am one of Thrall's advisors and chief of his military. Greshka tells me you have both accounted for the missing supplies... and some."

"That is correct," said Torgall, bowing his head slightly in deference, "she tracked the gnolls back to their camp and together we claimed their territory and possessions. She will be able to lead you there to recover the supplies-"

"That will be unnecessary,' said Nazgrel, cutting across Torgall. "I will send a small scouting party to retrieve all that we need; time is of the essence," he continued, addressing Greshka. "Our Warchief wishes to depart immediately - he says that Grom Hellscream has been captured by humans, but moreover we are leaving human lands, for good."

"Leaving human lands?" Torgall and Greshka both repeated incredulously.

"Where does he intend to take us?" Greshka asked.

"That is not of your concern - the Warchief has explained little thus far, and he should not need to. Prepare yourself for departure, we leave within the hour."

With that Nazgrel left; orcs parted to allow him passage. Torgall turned to Greshka.

"Do you know what this is about?" he said, frowning.

"No," she said, biting her lip. "Leaving human lands... while I would love nothing more than to leave this cursed lands, what does our Warchief have in mind? Where does he intend to take us?"

Torgall, too, thought hard - where could their Warchief take them that would not be occupied by humans and their allies?

* * *

Not half an hour later, the Horde was on the move. Torgall marched along side some other warriors, his grip tensed on his axe, questions buzzing through his mind. Where were they going? How were they going to get there? Were the humans involved? If so, how much bloodshed would there be before the orcs would at last be free? He knew little and expected to learn little more, at least not within the immediate future. They had encountered some human resistance thus far which had been readily crushed, but since then Torgall had done nothing but march and think. Abruptly out of nowhere, Greshka appeared by his side.

"I've been snooping around and pestering some of my superiors," she muttered in his ear, moving her mouth as little as possible under the pretence of marching with the rest. "Apparently Hellscream and several of his warriors are being held not more than a few kilometers ahead, in a fortified human settlement. Thrall has called the entirity of the clans to ensure his survival, but moreover to be sure no orc is left behind when we... depart."

Torgall nearly fell out of step, he was so surprised. "There are other clans?" he whispered, trying to remain inconspicuous. Greshka smiled wryly.

"Of course; this is not the _entire _New Horde. There are still other orcs, but Thrall has been sure not to allow any stragglers to remain. We get in, free Hellscream, get out, and leave."

"And any idea where we're leaving to?" Torgall murmured. Greshka shook her head.

"Don't think we'll know 'til we get there."

With that she was gone once more. Torgall shook his head - from what he had gathered, with her developed skills as a hunter, tracker and scout, she and some others were being used to scout ahead of the Horde to ensure they did not fall into an ambush. Either they had been doing their job exceedingly efficiently, or there was no ambush; aside from the brief skirmishes earlier with some humans, the trek had been depressingly dull.

At last, at long last, a large human settlement loomed out before them. A huge wall enclosed it, and was dotted here and there with guard towers. As they neared, Torgall could make out several bows pointing down towards them, but they were hopelessly outnumbered; for every bow there must have been ten orcs. He sniffed the air deeply - he could smell salt. The settlement must be near the sea. Lowering his gaze, he saw Thrall step forward towards the gates.

"Release Grom Hellscream!" he bellowed, each word ringing clearly. "Release Hellscream and we shall trouble you no further! The Horde has no quarrel with the Alliance! Release Hellscream, and we shall depart and leave the humans in peace!"

He returned to the Horde - Torgall had not expected the bows to fire. To assassinate Thrall in the open, in cold blood, would incite bloody, furious murder in the Horde and be an igniting brushfire to resume the war. However, after several minutes, a human wearing decorated armour stepped up atop the barricades.

"We count several of your number among us!" he shouted to the orcs assembled below. "Your leader is facing execution! Surrender peacefully now, and you shall all be spared!"

The human disappeared out of sight. Torgall saw, even from a distance, that Thrall had paled somewhat, but was still wearing a face of grim determination - and resignation. The Warchief heaved a heavy sigh, and waved his hand.

Several lines of orcs charged foward, bellowing battle cries. The guard towers loosed a volley of arrows, but barely succeeded in even felling the first line. Indeed, only a few were slain - most of those struck merely wrenched the arrows out and resumed their attack. Another line charged foward, and the orcs began collectively pounding upon the gates. Some wielded enourmous maces; others held battering rams as a group. As the guard towers released a second wave, Torgall saw return fire from the orcs at the front - Greshka and others like her were helping suppress the enemy fire.

After not even a minute of battering, the gate fell. Gripping his axe tightly, Torgall charged forward with the other orcs nearby. The Horde surged inside the gates, beyond the line of fire of the towers. Beyond the gates, several assembled knights and footmen met the Horde, but were quickly slain. Torgall swung his axe heavily, and it cleaved through the chainmail of one footman who was charging him. The human cried and fell to the ground, and was swiftly trampled by the tide of orcs.

Around them, women and children screamed, fleeing into houses. Torgall was pleased to see the Horde was supremely unconcerned with civilians, but was only interested in finding and freeing Hellscream. Several unarmed men held pitchforks or other tools, apparently having convinced themselves that they would be a match against a fully armed and armoured orc. The Horde ignored these minor annoyances, and the humans merely shrunk back whenever an orc shot them a threatening glare.

The Horde continued through the fortified human settlement, crushing any opposition along the way. Finally, they reached a last gate which some remaining footmen and knights were fleeing behind. Once more, orcs began battering at the obstacle, which creaked and groaned under the strain. Before long, the pressure was too much and the gate was shattered. The Horde charged into a very large courtyard - in which what seemed to be the remaining guard was assembled, with three towers to boot. The Horde gave a collective bellow and charged to meet the enemy.

Glancing through the thick of battle, Torgall could see several cages hanging from wooden poles - he could make out some green in them. No doubt this was where Hellscream and his warriors were awaiting execution. Torgall ducked as a blade swung at his head, then turned to meet his attacker. Lifting his axe, he parried the next blow, and utilized the same tactic he had used against the gnoll the previous night. Stepping forward he used his weight against the human - but humans were far smaller and lighter than the brute he had faced. The human rolled backwards with a shout of surprise - Torgall quickly swung his axe down in a precise blow before his opponent could rise once more.

Unfortunately, while the Horde had an advantage in hand-to-hand combat, the guard towers were wreaking havoc upon their forces. The Horde's own archers tried to fire back, but amidst all the chaos it was much harder to get an accurate shot off, while the bowmen in the towers were safely poised behind stone walls. Several orcs attempted to bring their battering rams to the towers, but in such confined quarters compared to breaking down the first gate, and with humans attacking from all angles, they were met with little success. Amidst all this, several orcs, Thrall included, set about the task of breaking open the cages.

Torgall whirled about, dodging and parrying wherever possible; it seemed he was fighting three humans at once. Fortunately, they were fighting near the edge of the battle, so there was more room to maneuver. The first human charged, lifting his shield to protect himself. Torgall ducked, holding his axe out sideways as he did so - the human's midriff careened into the handle and he toppled forward. As he did so, Torgall gracefully turned on the spot and brought the axe down. The human gave a brief shout and lay still.

Wrenching the axe free, Torgall lifted it with ease and slammed the flat edge of the head against the second human's shield. The human gave a surprised cry as he was lifted head-over-heels and crashed to the ground in a crumpled heap. The third gave an enraged yell and thrust wildly at Torgall - they were powerful strikes, but frenzied; he dodged them easily. Torgall swung his axe in a wide arc, but the human's rage did not stop him from being nimble; he leapt aside with ease. He then charged once more at Torgall, sword held aloft, hoping to impale him. Torgall gritted his teeth and grabbed the blade, utilizing the same technique he had used on Setremedes. With a slight shift of body weight, he yanked the sword forward so that the human's momentum sent him careening forward. As the human flew towards him, Torgall lifted his hand and snapped it around the neck - the human's unintended speed, coupled with Torgall's strength, allowed Torgall to easily crush the human's neck, gorget and all.

At that moment, an ear-splitting shriek rent the air. Combatants turned momentarily and saw a huge orc with wild hair, body paint and obscene piercings, his mouth drawn open impossibly wide. Grom Hellscream had been freed. Gripping his axe, he leapt into the fray, whirling and slicing like a frenzied dervish, cutting a swathe through the remaining human defenders. Seemingly simultaneously, there was a great cheer coupled with the sound of crunching wood - some orcs had at last broken through the tower doors and were already charging up the stairs to tend to the bowmen above. With Hellscream in the fray and the towers finally neutralized, the battle swiftly turned in favour of the Horde. It was not long before the remaining humans had surrendered, and had been disarmed and rounded up.

Thrall approached Hellscream as the last of the humans were sent to join their defeated comrades.

"Grom, are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine, little brother. Luckily, they only injured my pride," the chieftain replied humbly.

"Great, 'cause we're getting out of here now. We're leaving the human lands for good."

"Finally. Follow me, I have an idea." Grom led Thrall away from the defeated humans and to a nearby coast. There, several large ships were docked. The chieftain gave a derisive laugh. "We'll set sail on the humans' own ships."

Thrall gave an appreciative chuckle. "Perfect. But we'll need to wait for the rest of the Horde --"

But at that moment, a grunt approached, interrupting the exchange. "The Horde is assembled, Warchief. We await only your command."

Torgall looked behind him - indeed, even more orcs were flowing through the human settlement they had just conquered. The remaining clans had arrived; the Horde was much larger than he had first realized. It seemed that they were at last ready to leave the human lands forever.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Torgall watched as the human lands faded over the horizon. The departures had been amusing - the humans had watched, bemused, as the Horde loaded all necessary supplies and equipment onto their own ships, preparing to leave. There was no attempt to stop them - the town guard had been roundly defeated, and the reinforcements that had been sent for arrived well after they had set sail. By the time word would reach Kul Tiras to send the navy out, the Horde would be long gone, well across the sea.

Turning away from the landmass which had now disappeared from sight, Torgall looked about the boat he was on. Greshka had also landed herself on this boat - she assured him that he had nothing to do with it, but Torgall had caught a hint of a smile when she said it. She was at that moment humming to herself while fletching arrows. Torgall did not approach her, not just yet - there would be plenty of time to talk and spend time together, as he had no doubt the sailing would take days, weeks, months. Around him other orcs laughed, talked, joked; some were rolling the bones, others were discussing battle tactics, and yet others were regaling tales of glory long since passed. He heaved a sigh, a happy sigh, a sigh of relief. The orcs - the Horde - were free. Free to find a new land, a new home, a new life...

A new beginning.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Thanks for reading! This is my first submission on _FanFiction_ and I haven't written a "proper" story in yonks, so it might be a little shoddy. I tried to tie this in with the prequel campaign in Warcraft III, _Exodus of the Horde_, though I realize there are a few inconsistencies. I know that this story is a little short, but I'm already planning another story (it'll take place over the Orc and Night Elf campaigns, _The Invasion of Kalimdor _and _Eternity's End_. As it will cover two entire campaigns, I'm hoping it'll be significantly longer. Well, only time will tell!_


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